


Five Things Gone Wrong

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Root & Shaw prompt- the wedding AND honeymoooooooooon!!!!! :D hehehehheheh :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Gone Wrong

_This is not your traditional guy and girl wedding, okay?_ Shaw thinks to herself, as if there is someone else there to be an audience to this soliloquy.  _There isn’t even a_ guy. _This is just two girls doing some stupid ceremonial bullshit to make her happy._

Shaw looks around the space- the brick walls and empty wooden benches. Her eyes dance across the old rafters, picking out spots in the framework that look ready to collapse.  _But hey,_  Shaw says to herself with dry humor.  _When you’re looking for an abandoned church, beggars can’t be choosers._

And, with as long as it took their group to find this place, she wasn’t going to complain aloud about a single thing.  _I didn’t even want to do this in the first place,_  she grumbles. _I’d have been perfectly content with that little thirty-five dollar slip of paper saying we are legally married by the state of New York._  However, Root was not in the same mindset as Shaw.

“Of all the people to give me away, I’d never think it’d be  _you_ ,” Shaw mutters under her breath, much to a disgruntled huff from the detective beside her.

* * *

 

“You should be thankin’ me,” Lionel Fusco whispers back to her. “I don’t do this for just  _anybody_ , ya know.” Shaw, rolling her eyes, subconsciously smooths down her dress. That seemed to be another problem: attire.  _It’s not like a couple of random people with alternate lives can just get suited up for a wedding,_  she thinks to herself, looking down. She takes in the plain white dress, tank top straps meeting a fitting middle, and giving slightly until it ends just above her knees. Not much of a wedding dress, she would admit. She glances over at Fusco, who swipes the back of his hand against his forehead to remove the slight sweat on his brow. Without electricity and the means of opening one of the rusted-shut windows, they were all slowly becoming oven roasted potatoes. He has on a tweed suit, something Shaw hadn’t ceased to badger him about. The suit looks as if it hopped out of a 1940’s year book, the harsh brown color faded away to gray in some spots, shoulder patches holding the elbows of the jacket intact.

 _It’s a family tradition,_  Lionel had insisted, but it didn’t keep Shaw from snickering at him none the less. John and Harold were in their normal attire, although Harold sports a new bow-tie, and John’s hair is freshly cut. Secretly, Shaw wished he was standing with her instead, knowing that it would be easy to relieve the anxious pressure she feels building within. Shaw scans the empty benches blandly, finding the whole wedding humorous.

They had just enough people. Harold, their Justice of the Peace, John and Lionel not only their ‘guests’, and best men, but also their two witnesses. Finally, after pacing back and forth for some time, Harold stops, looks at Shaw, and nods. He takes to the pew, small notebook in hand, and gestures with his hands for all four of them to enter.

Shaw and Lionel enter from the left aisle, with John and Root entering on the right. The one thing Root had been stern on was that Shaw was not to see the dress. It all seemed like silly superstition to Shaw, yet she obeyed, and even stressed  _herself_  on what to wear. After days that she would never admit to scanning through stores, she’d finally been satisfied with this one. Yet, as the two pairings turn to face each other at the front of the small church, Shaw finds herself feeling completely underdressed.

Root’s attire is breathtaking to say the least. Her dress sleeves are loose, strips cut out in a lazy spiral all the way down to her wrists. The dress itself is shorter than Shaw’s, the end coming to the halfway mark of her thighs. But there is a translucent, white fabric that continues down to her knees, the back side of it falling even further towards the ground. Her hair is curlier than usual, the dark brown strands mingling with the colors of the stained glass all around, giving Root a rainbow-like halo. Shaw’s own hairstyle is nothing so glamorous, merely down and straightened. Shaw can feel her jaw loose, eyes pulled wide in a way she is unused to, but is far too awestruck to correct herself.

Root, upon seeing Shaw, brightens visibly. The worried crease in her brow gives way as a large smile washes over her entire face, making the entire church brighter. Her eyes shine, reflecting a million different things.  _How is it possible,_  Shaw thinks, wanting to roll her eyes but knowing now is definitely not the time for deflection.  _How is it possible for her to look like that, but still look at me as if_ I’m  _the prettiest one in the room._

“Shall we begin?” Harold asks, looking between the two of them. At the sound of Harold’s voice, Shaw snaps to attention, falling back into a straight-lined mouth and ungiving eyes. The two women come to stand shoulder to shoulder, while John and Lionel side step off to the edges of the pew.

Harold clears his throat, opening his small, black notebook and flipping through it nimbly.

“We are all gathered here today-”

“Quite the crowd,” Fusco breathes out to Shaw, and she allows the smallest quirk to pull at the corner of her lip.  _Maybe I spoke too soon_ , Shaw thinks, eyes still forward as she tries to pull the smirk from her face. She remembers wanting John to stand next to her, knowing that his statue-like physique would keep her sturdy, not wanting to come off as anything less than strong. But this is a different kind of support, the kind that relieves tension in jokes and nervousness with smiles. Something she found she needed. Harold gives a disdainful purse of his lips, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and he picks up once more.

“-to join Root Groves and Sameen Shaw in marriage.” He turns, giving a curt nod to Root. She smiles at him, eyes screaming an excitement she would never dare voice, and Harold looses his formal composure for the moment; smiling to show his congratulations to such a friend. Then, he gives the same, short bob of the head to Shaw. Straightening up, he looks back to the notebook. “Will you, Ms. Groves, have Sameen to be united as one in your marriage?”

“I will.” There is a bubbling thrill in her voice, and it sends a shiver down Shaw’s spine. She wants to look over to Root, but finds her head heavy as lead, her neck stubborn as cement, and she isn’t even able to spare the flicker of her eyes.

“Will you, Ms. Shaw, have Root to be united as one in your marriage?”

Shaw takes in a deep breath, letting the air escape through her nose slowly, swearing at herself profusely, threatening with every weapon at her disposal.  _So help me if your voice shakes,_ she warns.

“I will.” She can barely hear the words as another sound drums in her ears. She furrows her brow slightly, shifting her head this way and that to find its source; however, the noise is much closer to home. The beating of her heart is deafening, and she can only hope Root doesn’t hear it.

“Then,” Harold says, own voice quickened with a sort of ecstatic anticipation, “repeat after-”

There is a cooing and the sound of wings beating hard, and a second later, a large, twiggy mess crashes down over Harold’s head. He jumps from his skin, startled, and two pigeons shriek as they evacuate the premisses through a large hole in the ceiling. Shaw can see the white drip of what she can only assume is bird feces, and her lips pull into a pained 'ooh’ as she cringes back, barely stifling a laugh. The other three are in no better shape, watching with giggling eyes as Harold shakes his spiky hair free of the nest. Looking down at his Bontonis, a sigh escapes his lips. On them, two very large splatters.

“I heard bird shit’s good luck,” John cracks at Harold’s side, to which he receives a dangerous glare.

“Oh,  _Harold_ ,” Root tuts sympathetically, all the while her eyes smile at John’s comment. Bringing her hand forward, she picks a stray twig from his hair. With a chagrin blush on his cheeks, he starts up once more, voice flat with newfound annoyance.

“Repeat after me: I, Root Groves, take you, Sameen Shaw, to be my spouse in marriage, to have and to hold from this day on- for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health- to love and to cherish forever.”

Root, still facing forward, turns her head towards Shaw, curls bouncing over her shoulders as she looks down at their feet. She slips her hand into Shaw’s, and Shaw can feel her chest tighten. When Root looks back up to Shaw, the coil tightens around her chest unbearably- barely able to breathe with the pressure. When Shaw turns her face to meet Root’s gaze, her chest explodes.

Root recites the words, smile seeming permanently fixed on her mouth as she says each line, and Shaw can feel a lopsided grin slowly growing on her face. And then, it comes to Shaw’s turn.

She swallows hard, tongue rolling over her lips, and she begs her throat to make a sound. Like an old generator, there is an initial sputter, and then she kicks into motion.

“I, uh,” cough, “okay,” swallow, “so,” cough. “I, Sameen Shaw, take  _you_ ,” she puts an emphasis on the word, tilting her head forward with a secretive smile, and she can see Root’s heart leap to her throat. Suddenly, the anxiety chipping away at her in the background melts, and the words come easily. “Root Groves, to be my spouse in marriage, to have and to hold from this day on- for better- and  _only_  for better.” Root raises her eyebrows, and her smile falls victim to a playful smirk. “Okay, okay,” Shaw laughs, “ _and_  for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health- to love and to cherish forever.” She lifts her chin a little higher at that, eyes saying  _'I did it,_ ’ and Root’s smile replying ' _I know._ ’

Harold gives a long, high pitched whistle, and the sound of tiny footsteps bounding down the far aisle reaches their ears. Dropping Root’s hand, Shaw turns, only to find Bear barreling down the old, mouse eaten carpet, small box tied to a collar on his neck. Shaw rolls her eyes.

_The ring Bear. Clever._

He treads up the two stairs, coming right to Shaw, eyes looking up at her expectantly, and she gives him an affectionate pet. Satisfied, he finishes his small trek to Harold, who unfastens the box and tells Bear to sit. Harold opens the box, turning it to face them. In it are two, small brass bands sitting on tissue paper. They both take a ring, then turn to face one another. Shaw watches as Root’s eyes wander, coming to Shaw, the floor, the ring, Harold, and all over again. Although there is undisputed joy in Root’s countenance, Shaw can read the lines of nervousness on Root’s face like thirty point font. With the smallest shake of her head to relieve some pressure, she reaches out and takes Root’s hand.

Shaw brings Root’s hand forward, feeling her heart only hammering harder, and she doesn’t dare look to Root’s face. “With this ring, I thee wed,” Shaw murmurs, placing it on Root’s ring finger. She can practically feel the electricity running along Root’s skin, and she releases Root’s hand, afraid of what may happen if she gets one good shock.

Root takes Shaw’s hand up in hers next, trying hard to ignore the light tremble in her hand. However, Shaw notices it, and a small, kind-hearted chuckle escapes her lips almost inaudibly.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Root says in a rush, sentence strung together like one whispered word; as if she has too much air and not enough all at once.

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York-”

“Which isn’t much,” a voice says, although Shaw isn’t sure whose. One of the boys, she thinks half heartedly, unable to focus on much of anything other than Root. She looks up at her, scolding herself for not wearing heels. She envisions her feet, nothing more than white Chuck Taylors, and gives herself a mental kick. Glancing down to Root’s feet momentarily, Shaw is dismayed to see the quite extensive height of Root’s wedges.

Harold rolls his eyes, apparently fed up with the day. “Well, with as much power as the state of New York  _does_  vest in me,” Harold hisses, “I hereby join you in marriage.”

Shaw can feel a heavy weight lift from her shoulders, not realizing just how worried she was until it all floats away. Nervous that something much worse than bird nests and bad shoe choices would happen. Nervous that somehow, someway, Samaritan or the Brotherhood-  _hell, anyone with a gun_ \- would find their way here. Nervous that Root would walk out; cold feet or just not into it.

“Well, get to it,” John says, gesturing between the two of them with a hand. Shaw gives him an annoyed sneer while Root merely laughs. It was still nerve wracking to her- although she’d never admit to it- to kiss Root in front of the guys. Whether it be defensiveness over Root or defensiveness over what her own face might reveal, Shaw never ceased to threaten the men for making a single quip about it. Root never seemed to see the big deal, constantly coming Shaw’s way to do whatever impulsive action got to her first; Shaw’s red cheeks always receiving coy smirks from Fusco and Reese.

Root leans down as Shaw brings her head up, and they become excruciatingly close. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead-

There is a chorus of chirping and clicking and vibrating all at once, the sounds like an atomic bomb in the silence. Shaw can hear her own cellphone chiming out from a nearby bench and scowls. _I know I shut that damn thing off._

The men, after some uneasy reluctance, draw their phones, all seeing the similar  _'Unidentified Caller’_  in the ID. They answer, and at the same time Shaw’s phone falls silent. Root pulls away as well, eyes focused on a place just past the church, and a different kind of smile comes to her face.

“If you wanted an invitation, you could’ve asked,” Root says aloud coyly, smirk on her face as her eyes light up with humor. The four listen for a time, Shaw standing in place as she looks to each of them in turn. “You got it,” Root says, and at that time the trio hang up their cells.

“There’s a number,” John tells Shaw, eyes conveying a form of sympathy. “She wants all hands on deck.”

“But I think we will have plenty of hands  _without_  the two of you,” Harold informs the women, sincerity in his voice. Root gives him a kind smile, then steps forward, and he pulls her into a tight hug.

“I’m so  _very_  proud of you, Samantha,” he whispers into her hair, and she wraps her arms around him tighter. He pulls back slightly, bringing his hands to either side of her face as he looks her in the eyes. He smiles. Kissing her forehead quickly, he is gone like a shadow, following the two detectives and their Belgian Malinois from the building that doesn’t exist.

“I’m gonna have to go into  _work_  like this,” Fusco fusses in dismay as they reach the door.

“It could be worse,” John responds, to which Lionel snorts.

“How so, Mr.  _Fancy_   _Pants_  Detective?” John shrugs.

“The scent of mothballs could be stronger.”

The sounds of footsteps soon fade into nothing, and the sun’s light filters through, catching particles of dust and dancing with them. Root walks down the steps and to the front bench, picking up her dark jacket and draping it over one arm.

“Let’s go,” she says, turning to Shaw a moment before spinning back towards the door.

“Wait,” Shaw replies, stretching herself over just enough to grab Root’s wrist. She pulls Root back towards the pew, and now- two steps higher- plants a kiss easily on Root’s lips.

________\ If Your Number’s Up /________

_Shit._

That’s the only word running through Shaw’s mind as their car coasts to a stop on the side of Route 347.

 _We almost made it,_ Shaw thinks with irritation as she looks at the steam billowing out from under the car’s hood. Root, leaning into Shaw’s shoulder with eyes closed, opens them calmly. She sits up, untangling her hand from Shaw’s on the console as they both step from the vehicle.

Now in their everyday garb, Shaw rips the hood open, fanning in front of her face as the steam roars in a large cloud, heat crackling against the engine as it tries in vain to cool down. Out of every gun wielding operative, nuclear warfare explosion, and world war scenario, Shaw had never imagined for a moment that an over heated Prius would be their undoing.  _Until now, at least._

The engine wheezes again, and Shaw smacks the radiator. It hisses at her in response, and she can feel her ears growing hot with impatience.  _We only had ten minutes to go,_  Shaw broods shutting the hood with enraged force.  _Ten minutes_. Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger before leaning against the front of the car to think. Shaw feels the hood shift, and looks over to see Root sitting at her side, doting smile directed straight at Shaw.

Minutes go by and cars pass, yet no one stops to assist them. On either side of the road for as far as the eye can see are lushes, green trees and thick, dark grass. And above holds nothing.  _Literally, nothing,_  Shaw fumes.  _Not a single sniff of wifi to find the nearest gas station._

Twenty agonizing minutes tick by, and a bus comes plowing down the road. Seeing their chance, both Root and Shaw wave their arms over their heads, and- after a questionable second- the bus costs over the white line, wheels whining to a halt. They grab their backpacks from the car, then walk to the bus’s door. An old man with glasses thicker than his head pushes it open, smile empty, revealing gums and genuine kindness, and the two drop their fare into the front bucket. As the door sucks shut behind them, they slip into the nearest set of empty seats, avoiding the random spatters of gum and questionable liquids on the floor.

The bus jerks to a start, and Root trips, knocking her head into the foggy window, and she winces. Shaw herself is tossed forward, but presses her palms to the wall on either side of Root’s shoulders to keep from slamming into her.

Root turns, shaking her head rid of the splitting pain, and opens her eyes, letting them fill instantly with delight. Her eyes scan Shaw over suggestively, and Shaw finally comes to the realization why:  _I have her pinned._

Scowling, Shaw pushes away, sitting on the second seat from the window. With affectionate eyes and a humored smirk, Root slides down into her own seat, casting her gaze out the hazy window.

After a moment traveling down the bumpy road, Shaw finds a fatigue seeping out of her bones, taking over her muscles, and flowing into her blood stream. She rolls her neck, yet it does nothing. Fighting to bring her eyes open one last time, Shaw lowers herself across the other empty seats in their row, resting her head in Root’s lap. Keeping silent, Shaw hears Root’s sharp intake of breath, then nothing at all. With a smile, Shaw allows her eyes to close, the last memory she has is the feeling of Root’s fingers tugging her hair in light, subconscious circles.

________\ We’ll Find You /________

Shaw awakens at the gentle shake on her shoulder, and sits up, stretching out her sleeping muscles. Standing, the two head off of the bus- Root thanking the driver as they go- and they find themselves before a large, three-dimensional sign surrounded by concrete beach balls of varying size. In reflective grey letters trimmed in sky blue is one word shadowed by an endless beach:

W I L D W O O D S

 _The radio said it has the cleanest free beaches in the state,_ Shaw thinks, scanning the wooden planks and brightly colored people walking about.  _Let’s hope they’re right._

They take to the red and beige ramp leading to sun-dulled wood, only to be stopped by a man in a yellow t-shirt, khaki shorts, and a large camera. In small, blue scrawl is the name 'Morey’s Piers.’

“Have your photo taken!” He calls out to them, smile blindingly white against his tanned skin. “Photos taken this weekend only! Special deals  _this_  weekend!  _C'mon_ , take a photo!” Root and Shaw share a look, diverting their eyes as they try to walk past him. “Ladies!” He pleads melodramatically, hands clasped together. “Just  _one_  photo! If you don’t like it you don’t have to keep it!  _Please_!  _One_  for the memory!” His loud, shrill voice attracts the attention of pedestrians all around, and Shaw lets out a sigh. Turning, the two stand, waiting for his instruction.

“Okay!” He shouts, running back into the maze of beach balls. “Right- Right… no,  _my_  right! Your left! Keep  _going_ … Perfect! Okay, strike a pose! And three,  _two_ -” The flash erupts like lightning in the sky, and by the time Shaw’s eyes readjust the squirrel of a man is already back on top of them, pointing the screen their way.

Shaw leans in against the sun’s glare to give it a brief look. The word is just barely captured within the photo, and the waves are crashing just behind. At the front and center are Root and Shaw; Root smiling, Shaw giving what could almost be considered an upward curve of the lips. Root’s eyes are sharp and warm, cheeks painted a rosy pink.  _Why?_ Shaw wonders, but finds the answer soon enough. Her arm is draped casually around Root’s waist, thumb resting within one of Root’s pant loops. It looks as natural as it felt- enough for Shaw to not have realized she’d even done it.

“You are number 163!” He chimes to them cheerily, handing Root a small slip of paper. “Go to the convention center in an hour or later to pick it up. Enjoy your stay at the Wildwoods!” And, just as fast as he’d clung to them, he’d separated, already chasing down a family of four. “Special deals  _this_  weekend!  _Only_  this weekend!” He screams at them, squawking like a seagull as his arms flap up and down like wings. Root stuffs the paper in her back pocket, and together they head onto the boards, feeling the give of the old wood as it creaks under their feet.

The sun is already dipping into the ocean, ready for a cool bath before a good night’s sleep, and after only a few minutes of walking, they take the nearest ramp off of the boardwalk, headed towards their hotel. The backpacks, although lightly stuffed, feel like dead weight on their shoulders.

“You think someone stole the car yet?” Root asks for conversation as they head down a quickly darkening street. Lights on signs and buildings zap to life, electrocuting the entire island.

“That or towed it,” Shaw replies, although her mind isn’t entirely in the game. She keeps thinking of the things that hadn’t run so smoothly throughout the day. While Root figured out the wedding, Shaw had taken to the honey moon. The only thing she wanted out of a vacation was sun and sand, somewhere like an in-country Barcelona. This was the best she could come up with in two weeks’ time.

It looked fair enough in the pictures. White sand sand blue water, amusement park rides that lit up the night like a living city, and plenty of attractions along the way. Bike rides, boat tours, ghost walks- it seemed like a place where they could do mostly anything. However, everyone on the east coast shared the same idea. The only hotel available for anytime within the entire week was a place called the ' _El Ray._ ’ A place of substantial size, it was only three blocks from the ocean.

They turn the corner, coming around a large diner to the hotel’s location. The only thing they find is a terribly empty lot. Dark, not a single light around, it takes Shaw’s eyes a moment to take in the police car and large pile of rubble. On top of that, there is the thick scent of burnt wood and melted rubber.

The El Ray is nothing but ash and cinder.

Shaw lets out a guttural noise, eyes widening with the utmost annoyance. Yet another thing gone catastrophically wrong.  _What are we at now?_ Shaw fumes to herself. She reflects back to the church that smelled of mold and abandonment, the pigeons and the Machine, their broken car, and now the completely uninhabitable living space.  _Four in one day. The only thing that could make this worse is rain._

Root, reading Shaw’s thoughts, brightens with a solution. “I’ve got an idea,” she tells Shaw.

“What?” Shaw asks, looking over to Root, too many emotions rolling about in her head to settle on any one tone. Root smiles cryptically.

“You’ll see.”

_______\ Five Things Gone Wrong /______

One store and three beach blankets later, Root and Shaw were headed towards the water, dropping off their shoes behind a support under the boardwalk. They change quickly in the shadows, then step out onto the sand, lit an eerie blue from the light of the moon.

Shaw can feel her feet sinking into the sand, still warm from the scorching sun, and together they walk to an area out of sight by any patrol, but still viewing the ocean as white froth crashes over black water. Shaw stops once Root brings her hands to her hips, satisfied with the location, then begins unraveling the large sheets.

“Your top secret idea was camping on the  _beach_?” Shaw asks, trying to keep the laugh from her voice as she helps smoothen out the first blanket.

“It’s better than the sleeping arrangement at the  _El Ray_ ,” Root quips back, and Shaw narrows her eyes. Finally, the blankets are laid, backpacks used for pillows, and the two lay down, eyes up on the stars.

“That’s Orion,” Shaw muses aloud, connecting the white dots in the sky with imaginary lines.

“Where?” Root asks, looking around.

“It’s uh, to the left some,” Shaw informs her, bringing her hand up to point at the collection of stars. Root slides herself across, laying sideways so that her hand wraps around Shaw’s middle and her forehead touches Shaw’s temple. Looking straight out from Shaw’s extended finger, she gives her head a slight nod.

“Oh, I see it,” Root says quietly, words playing in Shaw’s ear as she forces her heart to sit still. The quickness of Root’s answer brings a warning flag before Shaw’s eyes, and she flashes Root and accusing glare.

“I think you knew where it was,” she deadpans, and Root gives her a bashful yet humorous smile. Rolling her eyes, Shaw returns her attention back to the stars, letting herself become lost in them.

“North star’s right up there,” Root points out directly before them to the tail of Ursa Minor, and Shaw nods.

“That’s that whole Peter Pan thing, isn’t it?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Root replies, not letting her eyes leave the galaxy painted above them. “It’s like the book 'Peter and the Starcatcher’ by… by Barry and Pearsons, I think.” They lay in silence a moment longer, nothing but the sound of the waves letting them know they are still on Earth.

“What’s the book about?” Shaw questions after a long stretch of silence, and Root’s eyes immediately begin to glow.

“You want me to tell you about it?” There is a sort of skepticism about it, as if no one had ever listened to her tell a story before.

“Sure,” Shaw says simply, pretending not to notice. “Why not.”

“Okay, well, it starts out with this boy, and he’s an orphan. But he’s kind of the head orphan, always characterized with that red hair, and he runs what they call the Lost Boys; but then…” Shaw can hear the vibrant excitement gushing from her words as Root gets tangled within the roots of the story. Turning her head, she watches Root speak; watches her mouth curve and straighten with her syllables; watches her eyes capture the emotion she felt while reading it.

For what could have been hours and what could have been minutes, Root describes the novel with all the details she can muster. From mermaids with razors for teeth, to a crocodile that thrives in the sky, and even a parrot transformed into a fairy, Root finally ends her tale of fictional wonders. “So Molly Aster leaves with the Lost Boys, all the while Peter- now unable to age- stays behind with the Mollusk Tribe in a place they named- wait for it,” Root seems to the bursting point, all her breath held up for this one singular moment.

“Never Land?” Shaw guesses, and Root’s shoulders sag.

“That was pretty anti-climatic,” she says flatly, and Shaw closes her eyes.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Shaw replies, then stops a moment to think. “I’m sorry about a lot of this, actually.” She can feel Root shifting at her side, and opens her eyes to find Root looking at her, face full of question. “For the, you know, dysfunctional wedding.” Shaw’s mind reaches back to the Chuck Taylors and pigeons and artificial intelligences. Root gives an almost inaudible chuckle.

“It was better than I ever  _dreamed_  it could be,” she answers Shaw honestly, voice compassionate and warm. Still, Shaw doesn’t buy it.

“And sorry for the shit luck we’ve been having,” Shaw continues with a near-bitter smile, pushing Root’s hair behind her ear to let the moonlight spill over her face. “Dying cars and burning buildings weren’t in the brochure.”

“You’re upset about  _this_?” Root asks, surprise evident. “No, I’ve had more fun here,  _today_ , than I can remember. The bus ride, walking around, laying out on the beach, it’s… it’s really wonderful.” Something in Shaw snaps at that. A fine wire- a small string- but it is enough to leave a catastrophe in its wake.

“There are so many things that have gone  _so_  much better!” Shaw sighs in exasperation. “The only thing you wanted out of this was a nice wedding and a nice honey moon, and so far it doesn’t seem to be panning out.” She lets out a long, pressurized breath before continuing, trying hard to not let the words stick on her tongue. “I just… wanted you to be…  _happy_.”

“I am happy,” Root says definitively, and Shaw snorts.

“How? Why are these things so great?”

Root leans in closer to Shaw, all the light of the stars and the moon eclipsed by Root’s curtain of hair. The only things Shaw can make out are Root’s eyes and the outline of her face. They seem less than an inch apart, and a smile comes to Root’s lips. I know that smile, Shaw thinks to herself, feeling her blood pumping faster. It’s a mixture of coyness- for the fluster Root knows it will bring- and brutal honesty- to add to the fluster. With her voice low enough that it barely carries, eyes brilliant even with the darkness, she replies,

“Because I got to do it all with you.”

Shaw can feel her face begin to heat up, and can only hope the darkness conceals what she feels is a blush. However, before she has time to figure it out, the sky splits with white, and the sound of the night shattering into a thousand pieces reaches them.

And then, it starts to pour.


End file.
